Rise of The Abandoned Husband

Chapter 634 - 634 - The Black-Robed Storm: An Auction Interrupted

The tension in the auction hall was suffocating. All eyes darted between Mariana Valerius and Marcus Ashworth, whose smug smile made my blood boil. Even from my hidden position in the rafters, I could feel Mariana's barely contained fury.

"Eight hundred million from the esteemed Ashworth family," the auctioneer announced, failing to mask his excitement. "Do I hear a higher bid?"

Mariana's fingers tightened around her bidding paddle. Sofia leaned in, whispering urgently in her ear. I couldn't hear their words, but the conflict on Mariana's face told me everything. The Seven-Colored Glaze was clearly crucial to her plans, but the price had spiraled beyond reason.

After a long moment, Mariana lowered her paddle.

"Eight hundred million once," called the auctioneer. "Twice..."

No other bids came. The Ashworths had effectively shut down all competition.

"Sold to Master Marcus Ashworth!"

Applause rippled through the hall. Marcus made a show of standing and bowing to the crowd before fixing his gaze directly on Mariana.

"A shame you couldn't secure your prize, Pavilion Master," he said, voice carrying clearly across the hall. "Perhaps the Celestial Apothecary Guild isn't as... financially robust as it once was?"

Laughter fluttered through the crowd. Mariana's face remained impassive, but I knew her well enough to recognize the cold calculation behind her eyes. She wasn't beaten—she was choosing her battles.

"Congratulations on your acquisition, Marcus," she replied evenly. "I'm sure your family will find it... educational."

The subtle emphasis wasn't lost on Marcus. His smile faltered for an instant before returning, sharper than before.

"I'll arrange payment immediately," he announced, signaling to a Guild attendant. "No need to wait until the auction's conclusion. The Ashworths always settle their debts promptly."

More politics. More posturing. I'd seen enough.

The Seven-Colored Glaze clearly mattered to Mariana, which meant it likely had value beyond what I understood. But my purpose here was singular—I needed the burial mask, and time was running short.

I shifted position, moving silently along the rafters toward the preparation room where the remaining auction items were held. According to The Man with the Mustache, the mask would be one of the final items presented tonight.

Below, the auction continued. An ancient scroll from the Third Dynasty. A set of spirit-attuned daggers. A cultivation manual rumored to contain the secret techniques of a fallen sect.

I was nearly at the preparation room when a commotion erupted on the auction floor.

"Payment complete," announced Marcus loudly, holding up the jade box containing the Seven-Colored Glaze. "Uncle Corbin sends his regards to the Guild... and his condolences to those who couldn't compete."

His eyes locked with Mariana's as he tucked the box into his robes.

It was time. I'd seen enough of this petty power play.

I dropped from the rafters, landing in a crouch behind the stage. Two Guild guards turned at the sound, but I was already moving. My palm struck the first guard's chest, disrupting his qi channels and sending him crumpling to the floor. The second reached for his sword, but my elbow connected with his temple before his hand found the hilt.

I moved quickly through the preparation area, scanning for the burial mask. Nothing.

A cold realization washed over me. The Man with the Mustache's information was wrong—or deliberately misleading. To s*upp#o.rt! our w*ork,$ p+l#ease r-e-a@d+ on *.-

I had two options: retreat and regroup, or improvise. Retreating meant losing precious time Isabelle might not have.

The choice was obvious.

I strode toward the main doors of the auction hall, adjusted my black mask, and gathered my qi. With a single explosive burst, I blasted the doors open.

The heavy wooden panels flew inward with a thunderous crash, slamming against the interior walls. Splinters showered the nearest guests as dust billowed into the hall. Four guards stationed at the entrance were thrown backward, landing in crumpled heaps.

Silence fell instantly. Every head turned toward me, expressions morphing from shock to fear as they registered my black robes and masked face.

"Ladies and gentlemen," I announced, my voice carrying throughout the stunned hall. "This auction is now being hijacked."

For a moment, nobody moved. Then, incredibly, laughter erupted from several corners of the room. They thought I was joking—or insane.

I drew my sword slowly, the blade gleaming under the chandeliers. Without warning, I channeled qi through the weapon and brought it down in a vertical slash. I wasn't aiming at anyone—yet. The blade cleaved through empty air, but the qi extension split the wooden stage in two with a deafening crack.

The laughter died instantly.

"That's the Black-Robed Man!" someone shouted. "The one who destroyed the Blackthorne mansion!"

Panic erupted. Guests leapt from their seats, scrambling toward the exits. I stepped forward, positioning myself to block the main doors.

"Nobody leaves," I commanded, releasing a wave of pressure that pushed the front-runners back. "Not until I get what I came for."

Six white-robed figures rushed toward me—Guild cultivators assigned to security. The first reached me with a striking palm aimed at my chest. I sidestepped, grabbed his extended arm, and used his momentum to hurl him into two of his companions.

The remaining three attacked simultaneously, forming a triangular formation meant to restrict my movement. A basic Guild technique, effective against most opponents.

I wasn't most opponents.

I dropped to one knee, slamming my palm against the floor. Qi rippled outward in concentric circles, disrupting their footwork and balance. Before they could recover, my sword flashed three times.

Three bodies hit the floor.

Screams filled the hall as blood pooled around the fallen cultivators. I hadn't wanted this level of violence, but the Guild had left me no choice. Time was too precious to waste on mercy.

"You're supposed to be dead!" Marcus Ashworth's voice cut through the chaos. He stood frozen halfway down the aisle, eyes wide with disbelief.

I turned toward him, my sword still dripping red.

"Disappointed?" I asked, advancing slowly. "I've heard that a lot recently."

His hand moved to his waist, fumbling for some hidden weapon. I was on him before he could draw it, my left hand closing around his throat. I lifted him off his feet with ease—my strength had grown considerably since our last encounter.

"The jade box," I said simply. "Hand it over."

"G-guards!" Marcus choked out. "Kill him!"

More Guild members rushed forward. I threw Marcus aside and met their charge, my sword becoming a blur of motion. Blood sprayed across silk robes and polished floors as bodies fell one after another.

These weren't elite cultivators—just standard Guild security. Against my current level, they might as well have been children wielding sticks.

When the last one fell, I turned back to Marcus, who was scrambling backward on the floor.

"The jade box," I repeated. "Now."

"Y-you don't know what you're dealing with," he stammered. "My family will—"

My hand cracked across his face, the impact echoing through the now-silent hall. I reached into his robes and retrieved the jade box containing the Seven-Colored Glaze.

"Your family will do nothing," I told him coldly. "Because by the time they hear about this, I'll be long gone."

I surveyed the room. Terrified faces stared back at me from every corner. Among them, Mariana Valerius watched with an unreadable expression. Our eyes met briefly, and though she gave no outward sign, I sensed her approval—and her concern.

"I want all auction items brought forward," I announced. "Everything that was sold tonight, and everything that was going to be sold. Now."

The auctioneer, pale-faced and trembling, nodded frantically. "Y-yes, of course. Right away!"

Guild assistants scurried to obey, bringing forward trays laden with treasures. I examined each item quickly, searching for the burial mask.

"Is this everything?" I demanded after the last tray was presented.

"Y-yes," the auctioneer stuttered. "Everything except the items already claimed by buyers who left before... before you arrived."

I swore under my breath. If the mask had already been sold and taken away, this entire operation was for nothing.

"Looking for something specific?"

The voice was calm, measured, and instantly recognizable. I turned slowly to face Julian Radford, who stood at the side entrance to the hall. His remaining arm rested casually on his sword hilt, but there was nothing casual about the cold fury in his eyes.

Flanking him were two figures in black and gold robes—Guild Enforcers, their faces hidden behind ceremonial masks. The power radiating from them made the air heavy, like the pressure before a storm.

"Black-robed man," Julian said, his voice carrying clearly across the silent hall, "you really have some guts."